


Desperate Times

by feeltherain



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltherain/pseuds/feeltherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas, as usual, has to get MJN out of a fix, but this time it involves an airport manager with a lecherous smile. How long can he hide what happened from everyone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate Times

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=99032#t99032). Don't know if it's exactly what the OP had in mind and I'm still dubious as to its quality but here it is anyway.
> 
> Warning for dub-con.
> 
> Massive thank you to [crocodile_eat_u](http://crocodile-eat-u.livejournal.com/) as usual who turned it from crap into passable, if I were her I'd have shot me long ago.
> 
> Hope it's not too bad and please comment :).

_Just a chat, that’s all. Clear up this little mess our illustrious Captain has landed us in._

“Come in.”

 _There must be lots of Alexander Allens in this part of the world._

“Yes?”

“I’ve been sent as peace envoy from MJN Air. It appears that we have a little problem regarding take off clearance.”

 _Damn. Small world after all._

“No, no problem, I’ve just not given you clearance. Oh wait, perhaps that is a bit of a problem. For you.”

 _Oh yes, it’s definitely him._

The years have not been good to Alexander Allen, or alcoholics anonymous as we used to call him until I no longer found it funny. Ever decreasing hair, ever increasing paunch, typical really, he’s probably been divorced a number of times too. God knows who would have him. But his eyes are still sharp, a piercing blue he got from his father. Always bright, always unnerving, even when he was new and naive. His mind was sharp then too. Pound to a penny it still is.

He had been a nasty piece of work in the old days, when I had been in Air England, though not yet a Captain. He worked in the airport, the manager’s son, and we’d take him out of an evening, when we didn’t have to rush off, and get him drunk, seeing how long we could stay in the local bars before we got chucked out. Thinking about it now, I am nearly ashamed. But Alexander was an arrogant boy and falling a few pegs when alcohol and other things were there to cushion the impact was surely kinder that what could have happened. Alexander didn’t see it that way. It had been a long, long time since I had seen this man and the years hadn’t been kind to him. But then he had never been kind to anyone.

“Yes it is rather. Perhaps we can solve this...minor disagreement.”

“I think it’s more than a minor disagreement.” His eyes flash dangerously. “And as for the solution, you owe me a further £548.68, let’s call it £550 between friends, and as you don’t appear to have a large envelope or a plastic card about your person, clearance remains not given.”

 _Do you remember me?_

“Come now, our Captain...”

“Threatened a member of my staff,” he tuts, shaking his head with faux sadness.

“That was hardly a threat, more a suggestion. Besides can you prove it?”

“Can you prove he didn’t?”

“Our CEO...”

“Oh yes, I’d almost forgotten about her. Abusive language towards the same member of staff? Well I can see where the pilots get their bad habits from.”

 _You bastard. You haven’t changed a bit._

“Still, we will accept a settlement of £550 and call it a fine for a safety breach. Benevolent aren’t we?”

 _Oh yes, you remember me, don’t you._

“Surely, this can all be called a simple misunderstanding, which it is, technically, and after a few mediations between us responsible adults we agree to drop the issue and the children follow our lead. You give us clearance and never again do we darken your lovely airfield.”

Alexander smiles. All teeth, jagged and yellowing with age.

“Nice try, Douglas. But that didn’t work all those years ago and it won’t work now.”

 _I knew it._

“So then, what do we do?”

“You pay me £550, I give you clearance to take off and you fly back to whatever shithole airfield you hail from as fast as that heap of junk will propel you. Tail firmly between your legs.”

“We don’t have that money.”

“Oh dear,” he sighs with a look of exaggerated grief on his face, “looks like you will be gracing our humble town for a while longer then. I recommend the haddock in the cafe in the centre. Though that is a bit pricey for your airline. Although...”

Alexander is still smiling. Like a shark.

 _Keep control of your breathing man, don’t let the little shit know. Futile, of course he knows, he remembers me._

“Douglas...”

 _Don’t say it._

“...we could always...”

 _Don’t._

“...solve this like we used to.”

 _Once, it was only once._

“Well Douglas, it’s up to you.”

 _I could punch him. No that would only bring an assault charge which is the last thing we need. There has to be another way. Money, we need money. I can’t access any from here, none of us can. There has to be another way. But there isn’t. There isn’t. Damn it. Alright calm down, don’t let him see. God look at him. I should have taken him down years ago._

“Well? I haven’t got all day, very busy man and all that.”

 _God forgive me._

I walk over around the desk just like before. He reclines in his chair. I kneel on the floor, take a deep breath and reach for his belt. He put his hands in my hair. I close my eyes. I open my mouth.

 _God will forgive me. I hope I will too._

~*~

 _Rinse, spit. Rinse, spit. Rinse...oh for God’s sake. Wash my hands. They’re shaking. For God’s sake! It won’t come out. It won’t come out. There’s nothing there you imbecile. Out damn spot, out I say. Stop giggling it’s inappropriate. Rinse, spit. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Dwelling on it isn’t going to help you. Dwelling on bloody Alexander and his...and his...fuck! Damn that hurt, what do they make sinks out of these days? Just stop thinking about it. Just...Jesus is that what I look like? Can’t have that. Can’t let on. What time is it? He must have granted clearance by now. Right you step out that door as if everything is normal. Everything is normal. Nothing happened. Right, good. Right..._

 

“Let’s go.”

“What?”

“I said let’s go.”

“What you...you managed to get him to waive the fee?”

“Yes, now let’s go.”

“You actually managed it?”

“How many times do I need to say let’s go before we actually go?”

“Right, sorry. I’ll go tell Carolyn.”

“Yes, do that.”

 _Honestly there’s no need to be so incredulous._

Now he’s gone, I run my hands through my hair. I still feel sick despite the good ten minutes in the gents trying to wash the taste from my mouth, the residue from my skin. I shudder. Then my fingers become his, they tug at my hair, clutch, pull, claw. I withdraw them quickly, let them drop to my thighs. They feel heavy, disconnected from me.

 _What’s taking him so long? All he has to do is tell Carolyn that we are cleared for takeoff. The flight plan is filed, the plane has been refuelled, Arthur is safely strapped in to his seat, what can possibly be the problem? Unless he knows. Unless he knows and he’s telling her. No, no, of course he doesn't, this is Martin. The only things he knows about are related to planes._

 _What’s wrong with me? Okay, calm down, for God’s sake. You are Douglas Richardson, you may not feel like it but you had better start acting like it. The last thing you need is for anyone to find out about this. At your age. With your experience. I was young. No! Stop it! We all have pasts, we all make mistakes, we pay for them and move on. Stop it now._

 _What’s taking him so long?_

~*~

“Post takeoff checks complete, Douglas.”

 _Just get home, you can deal with this at home._

“Douglas?”

 _Not like last time though, not with whiskey. It doesn't have to be whiskey, I can deal with it._

“Douglas.”

 _By hiding is that how you plan to deal with it? I hide from nothing._

“Douglas.”

“What Martin?” I snap.

“Post takeoff checks complete.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“Well observed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” _Now shut up, you pretend professional. If I can just get through the flight everything will be alright. If I can get Martin to stop looking at me out of the corner of his eye, everything will be wonderful._

~*~

“Hmmm.”

 _Don’t rise to it._

“Hmmm.”

 _He’s worse than elderly relatives._

“Hmmm!”

 _Oh for the love of God._

“Yes Martin?”

“What? Oh, nothing.”

 _Good. Leave it at that._

“Except...”

 _Don’t you dare._

“Except that you’re a bit quiet.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Usually you’ve won half the cheese tray from me by now.”

“Maybe I am being kind to you today.”

“Kind?”

“Yes, maybe I can see that the van business isn’t going well, you have to choose between cupboards and food to put in them and the former is winning. Maybe I can see that you have been surviving on Arthur’s cuisine for a few weeks now and maybe I think that even a few bits of cheese would do wonders on your noisy caged animal of a stomach,” I finish with a snarl.

“Oh. How very...benevolent of you.”

“Yes, isn’t it.”

 _“Benevolent aren’t we?”_

I shake my head. _Not today, thank you. Ha, should have said that at the time._

“Douglas?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“Douglas...are you alright?”

“Perfectly alright, why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just you seem...you haven’t...I don’t know.”

“Eloquent as always.”

“You see that’s it, that’s what’s missing.”

“What?”

“You. You are missing, your jokes, your bets, your silly little word games or games of hide the bloody lemon...”

“You can’t play that on a cargo flight.”

“But you aren’t playing anything. We’ve been in the air for three hours and you haven’t said more than ten words.”

“As usual your arithmetic ability never ceases to amaze.”

“What’s going on Douglas? Something is going on I can tell and I don’t like surprises and I hate you smuggling even more but as Captain I need to know so go on, what is it?”

 _Smuggling. It’s one way out I suppose, an easy explanation, too easy. Besides he’d want to oversee the unloading, the mood he’s in._

“Honestly Martin, you do have a suspicious mind.”

“No smuggling?”

“Not this time, no.”

“Not this time?”

“Well I can’t promise that I won’t in future, when the opportunity arises.”

“So what is it then?”

“What is what?”

“The matter?”

“What is mind, no matter. What is matter, nevermind.”

“Oh for God’s sake, fine. I was just asking.”

“Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Martin...”

“Alright, alright we can sit in silence if you prefer.”

 _Any other time I would be smirking now._

~*~

“Douglas?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I mean, you really have been very quiet and...well I was wondering...”

“Songs with weather related titles.”

“What?”

“I think I rather fancy some cheese after all.”

“Oh. Right. Umm...”

“Stormy weather, which technically counts as two.”

“Damn it, I knew that one.”

“Rain on me.”

“That’s not a song.”

“I think you’ll find it is.”

“Oh fine then. Just let me think.”

“Take all the time you need. Singing in the rain.”

~*~

The game dried up about half an hour ago. Well perhaps dried up is a bit strong it’s more on hold while we all wait with baited breath to see what Captain Crieff’s first effort will be. He’s thinking very hard. You can tell by the deepening lines on his face. At least the quiet is nice, though it gives me time to think. _No, not think. There is nothing to think about. Nothing happened. Nothing happened._

“Douglas.”

“Could this be the returning play from contestant Crieff?”

“What? Oh...no, still can’t think of anything.”

“Oh come on, Martin, surely even you can come up with a couple.”

“No, nothing.”

“Very well then, looks like I will be feasting on cheese after all.”

“Yes,” he says distractedly. He’s thinking then and not about word games. _Why can’t he take the hint and leave it a-blooody-lone. “Douglas...how did you manage to persuade the manager to give us clearance?”_

“I’m sorry?”

“How did you manage to persuade him? He was very...adamant at the time.”

“I went and had a private word and used my usual charm.”

“Right.”

 _Good, now leave well enough alone Martin._

“But what did you actually say?”

“Does it matter, Martin? We are in the air aren’t we, heading home.”

“I suppose. Maybe...maybe it isn’t important.

 _Yes, Martin, maybe it isn’t._

~*~

“Is it something he said?”

“Is what something who said?”

“Is whatever is wrong with you something the manager said?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“There is something, I just can’t figure out what.”

“The great detective Crieff strikes again.”

“Douglas.”

“Glad to see that you are once again channelling Miss Marple, Arthur would be proud.”

“Finished?”

“I have more, but I’ll save it for another time.”

“So is it?”

“What?”

“Something he said.”

“Martin...” I look over to his attempt at a stern expression. It should be comical, it’s usually comical, but today it seems a little sad and very irritating. “No, it isn’t.”

“So you admit something’s up then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well I’ll just keep guessing until I get it right. Then you’ll have to admit it.”

“There isn’t enough sky in the universe for a flight that long Martin.”

“We’ll see.”

“I can’t wait.”

~*~

“So not something he said. Is it something someone said?”

“Martin can we not just stick to word games?”

“I can’t think of anymore.”

“When has that stopped you before?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I thought we had already established that anything you perceive to be wrong with me is all in your head.”

“Yes, but that aside, is it something someone said?”

 _For the love of..._

“No.”

“Right. Is it something the manager did?”

“You’ve been around Arthur too much you know.”

“Answer the question.”

“Fine. No.”

“Was it...is it to do with the manager?”

 _For God’s sake can’t he just shut up and go back to thinking about the weather?_

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“If you want to.”

“Alright then, is it to do with the flight clearance?”

“We got it, didn’t we?” I snap.

“Yes but...was it something you said?”

“Oh, do I not count as a someone anymore?”

“Oh, of course. Okay, so...not something someone said, to do with the manager, to do with the clearance, and it wasn’t something he did?”

He’s got the confused expression back on his face. Let it stay that way.

“What could it..?”

“Yes, definitely too much time around Arthur.”

“Not something he did. Not something _he_ did...” His eyes widen a little, then narrow, scrutinising me.

 _Honestly, stupid boy, he thinks he knows now, he thinks he sees everything. He thinks his guessing game has won him a victory. What does he know?_

“Douglas...”

 _Does he honestly believe he has the answer, that it is that simple? He’s deluded._

“Is it...”

 _He will never be a Captain with a paying job; he hasn’t got the logic for it._

“Is it something...he _made_ you do?”

I turn to glare at him, see the concerned, sympathetic, no, pitying expression on his face. And that’s it. The flight deck goes red.

“Alright yes, yes it was, well bloody done Miss Marple, got there in the end!”

“Douglas...”

“Yes, the manager is an arse, has been since his youth and yes I did suck his cock so he would give us clearance!” I shout. His eyes open wider than I’ve seen them and his jaw drops. _Never would have guessed that would you?_

“Jesus, Douglas...I...”

 _Oh no, you wanted the truth, you can bloody have it._

“But do you know why, Martin? Because I was cleaning up your bloody mess. You always leap in, let your mouth run away with you, all the bloody time, you never think. Not once. You and Carolyn couldn’t keep your traps shut. He wanted us to pay an extra £550. Doesn't sound like much does it? Not in the grand scheme of things but apparently it’s the going rate for a blowjob these days. I’m evidently in the wrong business!”

“Douglas, please...”

“You need to learn to shut up, Martin,” I growl. “Because one day you are going to get into serious trouble and then I might not be there to do the dirty jobs for you.”

“I don’t...I didn’t...Oh God, Douglas...I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?” I snarl. Then more softly, “Are you?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, just...” Just what? It’s all out now, he knows. What the hell did I do that for? “...just shut up Martin,” I finish weakly.

To his credit, he does but only after whispering ‘set fire to the rain’.

~*~

Martin is focusing very intently on the landing. The force of his stare seems enough to buckle metal, rather worrying in a flying metal tube. He hasn’t said anything since my outburst. Neither have I. I’m starting to feel tired, devoid of energy. It’s amazing what rage takes out of you.

The landing, when we finally slam onto the tarmac, is a great one by dint of the fact that GERTI seems to be in no fewer pieces than she was. We both sit here not wanting to move.

“Post landing checks complete,” he says listlessly. I don’t respond.

Getting up is much too much effort at the moment. The seat is comfortable. I just wish the company would go away. He isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the disused hangar where the new bar is, not that he knows that.

“We should go and...fill out the log books,” he says sounding like he’s in a daze. I don’t respond. “Well, I’ll go fill out the log books,” he jokes. I look over to see his feeble smile and don’t respond.

We get up nonetheless and file out of the flight deck and out of GERTI, passing Arthur dancing with the Hoover.

The portacabin is eerily silent when we open the door. The lights are on and there is a Carolyn standing in the middle of our path, arms crossed, eyes strangely sad. She points to the decrepit sofa shoved against the far wall and I walk to it and sit down, already formulating a dozen plausible reasons or excuses, whichever are called for this time. Martin follows looking distinctly more uncomfortable. He’ll learn, one day, maybe.

“We’ll report him,” she says coming to stand in front of me. All the excuses evaporate.

“Who, for what?” It is a thin hope I have that I have misunderstood.

“I was in the galley when you shouted at out gallant Captain,” she says grandly. “And for the record if you ever say that I need to keep my trap shut again, I will remove the powers of speech from you.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Carolyn...”

“Shut up, Martin. We’ll report him.”

“Really? Because I was under the apparently misguided impression that if we couldn’t even afford £550, we couldn’t possible afford the legal fees incurred when he sues us for slander.”

“Douglas,” she says sternly.

“Can we prove it? Do we have evidence? No. If we did, he would say I was willing and it would be my word against his.”

“We can’t just do nothing.”

“On the contrary, that is very easy to do. And it’s what we shall do.”

She seems to deflate a bit, sinking into a nearby chair.

“Yes, you’re right of course.”

“But...but we can’t just...”

“Martin...”

“Yes, yes, I know ‘shut up’.”

He sits down on the sofa next to me, on the cushion of more dubious structural integrity. His hand comes up to my shoulder and I let it stay there for now. We all sit here looking like gloomy garden gnomes. None of us know what to say but we all acknowledge that there is nothing to do, so sulky resignation is the stage we are at, or rather they are at, I am at the ‘past caring’ stage.

“Right that’s finished mum. Hello chaps. Oh. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Carolyn replies somewhat lethargically. “Just...a little problem we’ve been trying to solve.”

“Oh well Douglas’ll do it easy. He always knows what to do.”

 _Always knows what to do? Always knows what to do? Oh God. I can’t stop it, I can’t help it. I’m... I’m...goddamn it I’m crying. Because someone has faith in me._

“Oh. Oh don’t cry Douglas, I’m sorry. It was a compliment. I meant it in a nice way, a brilliant way. Douglas?”

My head is guided onto a bony shoulder. My eyes bury themselves into his uniform jacket and I can smell him through the fabric, some cheap cologne, I didn’t even know he wore any. Suddenly my hand is in someone else’s. I can feel soft, age worn skin, ruthlessly moisturised. Then there’s a pressure around my middle and against my chest, just above my heart. How Arthur managed to squeeze himself in so small a space I’ll never know, I don’t think I want to. Some things in life should remain a mystery.

So here I am. A sky god in his fifties, six or so hours after being forced to suck off an airport manager, crying into the shoulder of a man twenty years his junior with his boss holding his hand and the bosses’ idiot offspring hugging him for all he’s worth. What an airline we make. What a sight.

But then all the best families are dysfunctional.


End file.
